


we have come to the end of questions

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathtubs, Come Shot, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Geralt can purr, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Oil, Requited Love, Spooning, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: “I paid for this room.” Geralt said, letting his spaulders drop to the ground.“Yes, and you said you’d be back three hours ago! I got bored. Could you not have shown the slightest regard for my suffering and just thrown back a few quiet drinks downstairs?” Jaskier was waving his arms around. Geralt knew he only did that when he was truly pissed off. Or if he’d seen a particularly exciting squirrel. Come to think of it, Jaskier just liked gesturing.Or: It's been awhile since Jaskier got laid, and Geralt interrupts him. Jaskier sulks. Geralt feels bad. Then Geralt feels Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 62
Kudos: 972





	we have come to the end of questions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crushcandles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushcandles/gifts).



A spiderweb of dark veins still pulsed faintly at the periphery of Geralt’s eyesockets. Roach dragged one of the Shaelmaar claws behind her as they returned to the small town’s alderman. To avoid taxing the mare, Geralt walked beside her. The fight had forced him to drain two elixirs, and the toxic sludge in his blood made the witcher ache. Get paid, get food, get a bath. That was all Geralt wanted from the rest of the evening.

The alderman made no complaint about the late hour, and he didn’t try to cheat Geralt out of a single coin. There were a few benefits to his monstrous visage. Geralt unburdened the kill proof from Roach, looped up the rope neatly, and lead the horse back to the single inn.

Once he was certain that the dozy stable-hand was committed to caring for his beloved mare, Geralt shuffled inside. Despite the high position of the moon in the sky, a few barflies lingered, and the innkeep sat half-slumped over the counter. Geralt paid for food and a bath – _hot_ , he emphasised to the keep – and trudged upstairs to the room he had rented earlier in the day with Jaskier. Undoubtedly the bard had played at the inn all night.

As he felt for the key in his pocket, hefting his bag further onto his massive shoulder, his keen ears picked up sounds filtering through the door. Geralt froze up. His first thought was that Jaskier had gotten himself into trouble, as was his wont, but that was quickly overridden when he focused on the two voices.

“...all bent over for me, so pretty.” He heard Jaskier moan. “Just wait like that, darling. Gonna fuck you so hard...”

Geralt pinched his eyes shut and exhaled sharply through his nose. This was not happening. Jaskier was not using their room – the only free room in the blasted inn – to get his dick wet, right after Geralt had been hunting. Briefly, he considered leaving the bard to it. He could go downstairs to bed down with Roach in the stables. He’d slept in worse conditions.

But damn it, he wanted that bath.

The witcher jerked the doorknob sharply, stalking into the room. Both Jaskier and the pretty blonde-haired man he was with startled like wild rabbits. The stranger was bent over the bed, presenting for the bard, and Jaskier was clearly about to rut into him, oiled-up and hard as he was. Everything reeked of sex and lust and the exorbitantly expensive lubricant Jaskier favoured.

Geralt _snarled_.

The young man yipped in terror, grabbed his trousers, and fled the room. Geralt’s narrowed gaze followed in his wake, chips of bright amber blazing in the firelight. Jaskier made a high noise, somewhere between whiny and disbelieving.

Geralt kicked the door shut and began to remove his armour.

“What in the seven hells is _wrong_ with you, Geralt?” Jaskier exploded, too irate and too shameless to bother covering himself.

“I paid for this room.” Geralt said, letting his spaulders drop to the ground.

“Yes, and you said you’d be back three hours ago! I got bored. Could you not have shown the _slightest_ regard for my suffering and just thrown back a few quiet drinks downstairs?” Jaskier was waving his arms around. Geralt knew he only did that when he was truly pissed off. Or if he’d seen a particularly exciting squirrel. Come to think of it, Jaskier just liked gesturing.

“No.” Geralt growled, simply. He bent down to begin unlacing his boots.

“No, he says. _No_ , as if he hasn’t just destroyed my life. Do you have any idea how _long_ it’s been since I had a good fuck, Geralt? We’ve been on the road for weeks!” Jaskier folded his arms across his chest, and sat on the edge of the bed. Sulking, now. Good. Perhaps that would mean quiet.

“You’ll live.” Geralt assured him. He took inventory of his armour, mentally cataloguing any faults that might need repair. Jaskier was shrugging into a loose shirt, but making no real effort to dress.

“I won’t, you see if I do. I’ll get backed up, and my balls will turn blue and fall off, and then I’ll die from misery.” Jaskier snapped.

Geralt said nothing, working at the buttons of his shirt. Guilt did begin to creep over him, then. Geralt was a witcher, able to suppress his requirement for physical contact for long periods if he had to. Jaskier was different, needy in ways that Geralt could not understand. What if he was telling the truth? What if denying Jaskier for too long would hurt him?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Jaskier didn’t answer it, too busy faffing about with his lute and glaring at the wall, muttering beneath his breath. Geralt turned the handle and stepped aside to let the staff in; two lads carrying two big buckets of steamy water each, which they poured into the large wooden basin by the fire. A young woman set down a bowl of something that Geralt supposed was technically stew, as well as a day-old heel of bread. None of them lingered.

“...all so you can have your stupid _bath_ , stupid witcher and your stupid...” Jaskier’s tirade was not over. Geralt ate the thin stew hastily, feeling invigorated by the meal, and then began to undress. He used a damp cloth to wipe the worst of the dirt from his skin. It was a trick that Jaskier had taught him; if he rinsed off first, then the bathwater would stay cleaner.

Jaskier, who still smelled like need and anger, who was – fuck, was the bard still _hard?_

Geralt stepped into the water and tried to push all thought out of his head. The steam did little to help; the water concentrated Jaskier’s scent until it was a thick fog that clung to Geralt’s skin in depressing droplets. He could have had a few drinks. He could have let Jaskier have a bit of fun.

Fuck.

“...going to get friction burn on my hand, at this rate. Then _that’ll_ get infected and my fingers will drop off. Then I won’t be able to play anymore, and I’ll die alone in a gutter—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt barked, his voice tight.

“What?” The bard snipped right back.

“I’m—sorry. About your. About.” Geralt frowned. “Come here.”

He heard the sound of a treasured lute being placed down, and then Jaskier’s eager footfalls against the floorboards. The bard appeared in Geralt’s field of view, wide of eye. And still hard. Now that he was closer, Geralt could see the oil that slicked his erection, and the smell of unsated desire burned his nose. His own cock throbbed in the water, half-filling.

“Pardon, dear witcher, but I believe I just heard you _apologising_ to me. Have I quite lost my mind?” Jaskier put both his hands on his hips.

His dick peeked out from beneath the hem of his shirt like an obscene exclamation mark. Geralt tried not to stare at it, but it was so... _there_. His body responded further, the slow thrum of his pulse drawing his cock harder and harder beneath the privacy of the soap-suds.

Geralt’s teeth pinched together, all point, a predator’s ivory. “I know I’m not... a young, pretty blonde lad,” He held Jaskier’s gaze, gold-on-blue, “But I can help.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows rose. A blush settled endearingly on his cheekbones. “I—what?” He squeaked.

“I can take care of you.” Geralt offered. “Be your... company.”

The way Jaskier was staring almost made him withdraw the offer, embarrassed, before he noticed two things. Firstly, the scent in the air had changed from irritated lust to full-blown spicy-sweet arousal. Secondly, Jaskier’s cock twitched greedily between his legs. A clear bead of precome began to form at the tip.

Geralt was rock-hard instantly.

“Are—are you sure?” Jaskier asked, his pitch lowering to something sultry and smooth that Geralt had heard before, but never directed at him. This was the right thing to do, he had thought, to help Jaskier out. But now he wondered if his motivations were entirely selfless.

Before he could get caught up in the confusion of his own morality, he simply withdrew a large arm from the tub, swiping Jaskier around his waist. The bard stumbled towards him, gleefully shedding his shirt and tossing it aside. Geralt pawed at his hips, guiding him into the water.

Unfortunately there was not much room in the bath, not for two grown men. Jaskier planted his feet on either side of Geralt’s thighs, standing over him, flushed. It had not been Geralt’s intention to take Jaskier into his mouth, but he was right there and the idea seemed suddenly appealing—

\--except Jaskier’s knees buckled, and he sat on the witcher’s large legs, trembling coltishly. Geralt reached out to steady him. Concern shone in his gilded eyes. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe Jaskier was afraid of him, too. Maybe he should just go find that blonde-haired man.

“Oh,” Breathed Jaskier, “Oh _Geralt_. You’re so _hard_.” The bard’s expression was something cute and incredulous, and Geralt felt himself growing hot like a young lad with a crush. Jaskier bit his lower lip and fixed the witcher with a hooded stare of intention. Geralt’s mouth went dry.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, “You just—smell good, and I—” Fuck. 

“What in the name of Melitele’s bountiful bosom are you apologising for? Are you _truly_ that blind, Geralt? I’ve wanted this – wanted _you_ – for _years_. And to think you want me too...” Jaskier licked his lovely lips, pink tip running the ridge of his cupid’s bow.

“Of course I do.” Geralt blurted, his fingers flexing at Jaskier’s hips, dimpling the flesh of his arse. The bard made a bit-off sound, a small whimper. “Of _course_ I fucking do.”

“Oh gods, say that again.” Jaskier begged, placing his hands on Geralt’s chest. The bard rocked forward, and Geralt felt his oil-slick cock rub the length of his own. The witcher flinched, jutting his hips up, a low growl rattling in the base of his throat.

“What?” Geralt found his coherency failing. He wanted to feel that again. The blood-hot, throbbing heat of Jaskier. Huge fingers wrapped around his cock, and then Jaskier’s, pressing them together. He planted his feet solidly on the floor of the tub, giving Jaskier a stable, slick sheath to fuck into.

“ _Hnngh_ , Geralt,” Jaskier mewled, beginning to thrust obediently. Geralt’s fingers were coated with oil. The sound they made as they moved together was filthy and wet. Bathwater sloshed out the sides of the basin with every stroke. “Curse. C-curse again, oh-fuck, your _voice_.”

Jealously, Geralt watched Jaskier take his pleasure from the friction, upper lip curled in a silent snarl. It was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in his long life. “Want me to say ‘fuck’, do you?” Geralt growled, the grit of his voice catching as his cock pulsed against Jaskier’s. “Or tell you that you feel so _fucking good_ , riding my dick like this. Fuck, Jaskier. So hot. That’s it, fuck against me.”

Jaskier moaned whoreishly, his mouth going slack. His pretty cockhead peeked from Geralt’s grip as he ground down faster, dribbling precome in messy spurts. “Yes!” He keened, scratching at the wet skin of Geralt’s chest, “ _Geralt_ , fuck!”

“Good boy, knew you’d be so fucking _good_ for me,” Geralt rasped, feeling his balls draw tighter, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with every rut of Jaskier’s hips. “Y’gonna come all over my chest, hmm? Is that what you want?”

His answer came in the form of a choked-off sob as Jaskier’s last movements became erratic. Geralt watched his bard’s eyes roll back, a thin line of spittle hanging from his lower lip as he pressed down, coming in thick ribbons across Geralt’s body. The first spurt splashed his chin, and the shivering intensity of Jaskier’s orgasm was enough to push Geralt into his, too. Geralt grunted and panted through it, working them both as his abdomen became messier and messier with their combined come.

Jaskier collapsed forward when the last shudder had been wrung from him, draping boneless across Geralt. The two of them caught their breath, reeling. Geralt absently began running his hand through Jaskier’s hair, holding him in the cooling water, eyes half-open.

The sound of Jaskier’s giggling brought him back to himself.

“Gods, Geralt, you’re—you’re purring.” Jaskier was grinning, looking thoroughly fucked-out and delicious.

Geralt swallowed thickly, and tried to suppress the sound. “Happens when I’m content.” He muttered, embarrassed.

“I love it. Oh, it’s perfect.” And his blasted, lovely bard pressed his ear to the side of Geralt’s neck.

Naturally, Geralt rumbled all the louder.

Later, when they were both considerably cleaner, tucked into bed, Geralt found himself spooned by his bard. It was a conscious gesture of intimacy, and he basked in it. He was terrible at pillow-talk, he knew that, but it appeared that Jaskier was worse. The man was making happy snuffle-snores into the base of Geralt’s neck before he’d even dimmed the lamp.

The last coherent thought that passed through his mind was that Jaskier would never suffer on the road in his company again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow my tumblr for nonsense, I am @inber.


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